You’re a mountain lion. You’re starving. You live under the Hollywood sign, watching hikers with their overpriced water bottles and listening to the hum of a city that doesn't know you exist. That is the premise of Open Throat by Henry Hoke, and honestly, it’s one of the weirdest, most visceral reading experiences you’ll have this decade. It’s a slim novel—barely 160 pages—but it feels heavy. It feels dangerous.
Most people see a book about a talking animal and think "Disney" or "fable." This isn't that. Hoke’s protagonist doesn't have a name, though he's often referred to as "the mountain lion" or "the cougar." He’s queer, he’s lonely, and he’s trying to make sense of a human world that is loud, colorful, and utterly nonsensical. The narrative is written in short, jagged bursts of prose that mimic the way a predator might actually think. No punctuation. No capitalization. Just raw, rhythmic instinct.
It’s a vibe. A terrifying, heartbreaking vibe.
The Brutal Reality of Open Throat
Henry Hoke did something very specific here. He took the real-life story of P-22—the famous mountain lion who lived in Griffith Park—and turned it into a fever dream. If you followed the news in Los Angeles around 2022, you know P-22’s story ended sadly. He was euthanized after being hit by a car and suffering from health issues. But Open Throat isn't a biography. It’s an exploration of what it feels like to be an outsider looking in at a "civilization" that seems intent on destroying itself.
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The lion observes "scary" (humans) and their "heckas" (houses). He listens to them talk about their problems, their sex lives, and their anxieties, all while he’s just trying to find enough water to keep his tongue from sticking to the roof of his mouth.
Why does this work? Because it hits on a universal feeling. We all feel like that lion sometimes. We’re all trapped in systems—cities, jobs, social expectations—that weren't built for our actual nature.
Why the Style of Henry Hoke Matters
If you open the book and see the lack of periods, don't panic. Hoke isn't being pretentious for the sake of it. The "open throat" of the title refers to many things: the physical act of a predator killing, the vulnerability of a neck, and the literal way the lion speaks his truth to a world that can’t hear him.
The sentence structure is erratic.
Like this.
Then it stretches out into long, breathless runs where the lion is chasing prey or running from the "long-tool" (a gun) or the "fire-stick."
He meets a "scary" who is a girl and she doesn't run away. They have this strange, quiet bond that highlights the lion's gender-fluid identity. The lion doesn't see himself as a "he" or a "she" in the way humans do. He just is. This makes the book a significant piece of contemporary queer literature, even though the protagonist is a big cat.
Breaking Down the Setting
Griffith Park is the unspoken character. It’s a dusty, drought-stricken hellscape that humans treat like a playground. Hoke paints it as a place of extreme contrast.
- The glitter of Hollywood lights.
- The dry rot of the brush.
- The "metal-river" (the 101 freeway) that cuts the lion off from his family.
- The homeless encampments where people and animals share a different kind of survival.
The lion spends a lot of time near a "tent city." He sees the people there as more like him than the people in the "heckas." They’re exposed. They’re hungry. They’re ignored.
The Climate Anxiety Element
You can't talk about Open Throat without talking about the environment. Henry Hoke leans hard into the "big burn." The lion is constantly aware of the heat. The lack of water isn't just a plot point; it’s a ticking clock. As the world gets hotter, the lion gets more desperate, leading him closer and closer to the dangerous parts of the city.
There’s a scene involving a drought-stricken creek that will stay with you. It’s not just about an animal being thirsty. It’s about the total collapse of a habitat. We’re watching a king of the jungle be reduced to licking condensation off a discarded plastic bottle. It’s brutal.
Hoke’s background in experimental writing and performance art shines through here. He knows how to make you uncomfortable. He wants you to feel the grit in your teeth.
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Is it Actually "Human-Quality" Writing?
Critics have obsessed over whether a human can actually write from the perspective of an animal without it being a gimmick. Most fail. They make the animal too smart or too "human-adjacent." Hoke avoids this by keeping the lion's motivations simple: hunger, safety, and a confusing, nagging need for connection.
When the lion finally makes it into the "city of scaries," the book shifts gears. It becomes a bit of a thriller. You’re terrified for him, but you’re also terrified of him. He’s a killer, after all. He eats a hiker's dog. He thinks about eating the hiker. Hoke doesn't shy away from the blood.
Key Themes to Watch For
- Isolation: The lion is the only one of his kind in the park. His loneliness is physical.
- Language: How we name things defines how we treat them. The lion’s names for human objects are often more accurate than our own.
- Survival vs. Living: The lion survives, but at what cost to his sanity?
What Most Reviews Get Wrong
A lot of reviewers call this a "satire." Honestly? That feels wrong. Satire implies a level of detachment or humor that isn't really the core of this book. Sure, the lion's observations of Hollywood elites are funny in a dark way, but the book is ultimately a tragedy. It’s about the end of something.
It's also not just a "climate change book." It’s more personal than that. It’s about the body. The lion is intensely aware of his claws, his fur, his stomach, and his "open throat."
Actionable Steps for Readers and Writers
If you’re a reader looking to dive into Open Throat by Henry Hoke, or a writer trying to learn from his style, here is how to approach it.
For the Reader:
- Read it in one sitting. It’s short enough. The rhythm works better if you don't break the spell.
- Listen to the audiobook. Henry Hoke has a specific cadence, and hearing the "lion's voice" helps the lack of punctuation make sense.
- Research P-22. Look up the photo of the mountain lion in front of the Hollywood sign taken by Steve Winter. That image is the soul of this book.
For the Writer:
- Experiment with constraints. Hoke limited himself by removing punctuation and using a limited vocabulary. Try writing a scene where you can’t use certain common words.
- Focus on the senses. Notice how the lion describes the world through smell and heat rather than just sight.
- Short is powerful. You don't need 500 pages to tell a life-changing story. Sometimes 150 pages of high-intensity prose is better than a sprawling epic.
For the Curious:
- Check out Henry Hoke’s other work, like The Grounding of Kaspar Hauser. He likes outsiders. He likes people (or creatures) who don't fit into the "normal" box.
The Reality of the Ending
Without giving away the literal ending, the book concludes on a note that feels both inevitable and surprising. It doesn't offer easy answers about conservation or urban planning. It just leaves you sitting with the reality of what we’ve done to the world and the creatures who have to live in the margins of it.
The lion's journey is a mirror. When you look into his "open throat," you’re seeing the hunger and the fear that we all try to hide behind our "heckas" and our screens. It’s a fast read, but it’ll haunt your sleep for a week.
If you want a book that challenges how you see your own city, grab a copy. Just don't expect a happy ending where the lion and the humans have a picnic. Nature doesn't work that way, and neither does Henry Hoke.
Next Steps to Deepen Your Understanding:
- Compare the Text to "The Grizzly Maze": If you're interested in human-animal conflict, read up on Timothy Treadwell. It provides a real-world counterpoint to Hoke's fictionalized empathy.
- Map the Journey: Open a map of Griffith Park and the Hollywood Hills. Trace the paths near the Ford Theatre and the observatory to see exactly where the lion’s "kingdom" sits in relation to the concrete.
- Explore "Animal POV" Literature: Read Timbuktu by Paul Auster or Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis to see how other authors handle the "talking animal" trope without falling into clichés.